


New Path

by Oliver__Niko



Series: FE Trans Week [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dancer Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Friendship, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Insecurity, Mentors, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character, White Heron Cup (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: Byleth has chosen Felix as the Blue Lions' representative for the White Heron Cup. Felix worries it's for all the wrong reasons, although it turns out Byleth understands him more than he has ever realised.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & My Unit | Byleth
Series: FE Trans Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833268
Comments: 18
Kudos: 50
Collections: Fire Emblem Trans Week 2020!





	New Path

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all the love on the first fic for this week! I'm glad that it resonated with so many of you and I hope you continue to enjoy what I create for this week.
> 
> I've made Felix my Dancer in both AM and VW because I have a soft spot for it, and I ended up thinking of this idea last month which I decided to use for this day. For the prompts '(Class) Change)' and 'Support.' Enjoy!

"Are you considering me as our representative for the White Heron Cup? Heh."

"Yes."

Wait, what? No, no that's not what he—

"I was joking," says Felix, lips pressed together in annoyance. "You really couldn't find anyone else?"

Anyone. Literally anyone. Even the boar would be a better fit than _Felix._ Like most nobles, he's had experiences dancing, and he does know a thing or two about it already.

But it's not as though he enjoys it. And it's not simply about the dancing itself; he's dwelling on what comes after, for the representative who wins the White Heron Cup can train as a Dancer. A _Dancer._

He's already spent enough time having to tell others he's male as it is.

"You were not the only option," says Byleth, "but after thinking through it, I decided you were the one I wanted the most."

"That's preposterous," says Felix. What about Annette? Flayn? Surely they'd have far more confidence in this than him? He goes to voice this, although he's finding himself distracted by these very thoughts, as well as the insecurities creeping up on him.

"If you're not comfortable enough to, that's also fine," says Byleth. "I simply have my reasons, and thought you might enjoy winning it."

He straights up a little from that golden word: _winning._ His competitiveness delves much deeper than even he realises, it seems. Any kind of victory over his peers is satisfying.

"Fine, I'll do it," he says at last. "But considering you're forcing me into this, help me with my dancing."

"Certainly. We should get going."

"Can't believe I'm taking time away from training for this," he says, releasing a sigh as he follows the professor out of the training grounds.

* * *

Surprisingly, the dance practice isn't so bad. Once Felix can ignore the embarrassment of having to do so in front of others—most especially Dorothea, the Black Eagles' representative, who appears curious—he doesn't do terribly. In fact, it appears he knows more about dancing than he realised.

Byleth even ensures to bring Felix to a quieter area when realising he will do better alone. They warn Felix that he will have to dance in front of people at the Cup, but for now, he can practice privately if it helps.

Soon, the pair take a break and sit on the floor together, Felix grateful for the water handed to him. Dancing is surprisingly tiring.

"You're doing wonderfully," says Byleth. "I knew I'd be fine to pick you."

"Still a stupid decision." The words come out with even further animosity than planned, but he doesn't take it back.

Byleth doesn't comment, however. They're watching Felix. Long enough for the latter to ask, "Why are you staring?"

"May you tell me why you’re against being a Dancer? I'm sure you know I could have picked someone else if you're not comfortable with it."

"I already told you," says Felix, impatient. “There's others you could have picked. Annette, Flayn—"

"You don't think I should have chosen you?"

"It's more _why_ you'd choose me instead." Because in Felix's mind, it's for all the wrong reasons.

"There's a few reasons for that," says Byleth. "Your skills, for one thing."

"At _dancing?"_ he says in dismay. Byleth smiles, shaking their head.

"It does turn out you can dance. But no. Dancers often have great skills in swords and Reason. You're fantastic at the former, of course, and your budding talent in the latter has been flourishing."

Felix scoffs. "So? I could be training to be a Mortal Savant. Unless you don't see me as _manly_ enough for that."

There's a silence as Byleth processes this. His eyes drop to the ground, cursing silently at his insecurities, yet also fully aware he cannot hide them forever. Not when it's obvious Byleth will not go through with this unless Felix truly is fine with it.

"Felix, I do see you as a man," they say.

"Do you?"

"Yes. Dancers can be both men and women. I hadn't thought of your gender at all throughout this process."

“I mean, I know they can, but I still—argh, you just wouldn’t get it.” Emphasising his point, his boot scuffs the ground. There’s a momentary silence.

“I do get it,” says Byleth. “I’m non-binary myself, after all.”

Felix glances up from the ground, before his gaze drops to his feet again, guilt washing over him. “Sorry,” he mutters. “That was stupid of me to say.”

“You’re used to having to say it. I understand, really.”

“I just … The White Heron Cup, I’m over it. I’d like to win it for us,” says Felix. “But this whole Dancer thing after—”

“If it’s making you dysphoric, I will not force it out of you.”

He shakes his head. All insecurities aside, he trusts his teacher. Of course he does. They have done nothing but support their students, help lead them on the right path. Their guidance on the battlefield has been perfect. For the first time, ever since Glenn, Felix has found a worthy opponent. He trusts that opponent’s judgement.

He realises upon thinking this that it isn’t _their_ judgement he is insecure over.

“I think it’s other people getting to me,” he says. “How _they_ would feel if I trained as a Dancer. It’s taken long enough for some people to see me as a man, and it’s just—what if this rewinds it all? They see me in _that_ attire and assume I’m not as much of a man as I say?”

“Do you yourself believe that?” asks Byleth.

“I—I would have, years ago. But these days I can embrace certain traits and understand that even if they’re stereotypically feminine, that doesn’t make me female.” His fingers absent-mindedly feel the long bangs separate from his bun with these words. “It’s simply reality that this isn’t how others think.”

“You don’t have to wear it at all, you know,” says Byleth. “If you want to be a Dancer but not wear the typical costume, you are more than welcome to do that. We can always change it, too.”

“I don’t know if that’s necessary. To both of those things.” Felix leans his head back against the wall behind him. “Sorry I’m so conflicted about this. I think a lot of things are combining.”

“That’s understandable, Felix. Truly.” Felix’s eyes glance down at a hand which squeezes at his shoulder. It’s a strange feeling, and usually, anyone touching him makes him uncomfortable and want to back away. With _them,_ however … Somehow, he doesn’t mind it, or at the very least can tolerate it. “We can do whatever is best for you. And I assure you that with the common male attire for Dancers, although it still has feminine touches, it’s not designed in a way that will make you feel dysphoric over certain aspects.”

This causes Felix to hum. “Care to explain this in more detail?”

“The shirt, for one thing, is rather loose,” Byleth begins. “You don’t have to worry about drawing attention to your chest. And the dress layer which goes over it helps to conceal it as well.”

“I … I see,” says Felix slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

A smile appears on Byleth’s face. “It really is suitable. You know I worry about you binding when we go out to battle. It’s not healthy to exert yourself so much while wearing one. And with this, you can wear a gym bra alone and have your chest be concealed by material.”

Felix thinks of the examples of male Dancer attire he has seen—and now Byleth has mentioned it, he realises they’re right. The men certainly don’t often wear anything which clings tightly to the chest.

That ticks one box.

“And speaking of your dysphoria over this area, I admit this is also something that has made me consider your future.”

This piques Felix’s curiosity. “In what way?”

“I know that despite how desperate you are for top surgery, you have been fearing fitting it into your life. You’re constantly out there on the battlefield with us, and it’s a lengthy recovery process. Yet it’s also one which is extremely important to you. Life-saving, even.”

Felix glances at the ground. To someone who doesn’t understand how gender dysphoria feels, this feeling beneath your skin, clawing and scratching at it, they will not see how serious this statement is. He cannot see a life in the future with these damned lumps of fat on his chest which he never asked for.

It sounds trivial. And perhaps, in the midst of all this fighting, it is. But the reality is that everyone has their own needs in life. His are simply those others may not understand at all.

“Fighting alongside you all is simply more important,” he says. “And as you said, it’s a tough recovery. Even I know I couldn’t rush out and wave a sword around for a while after it, no matter how much magical healing I’m given.”

“Precisely,” says Byleth. “So I’ve been thinking how useful it will be to have you keep working at your magic, Faith included, while also training as a Dancer. You should be able to return to training and the battlefield sooner after surgery if you are part of this class.”

Felix stares. Stares and stares at them, unsure of how to respond to such kind consideration. “I—you’re thinking that much of me? To train in a class that allows me to stay away from close combat for a while?”

“Yes,” says Byleth. The smile they give Felix is small, yet those smiles have been so rare, especially when they first started working here, it touches him nonetheless. “Considering your suitable skills in sword and Reason alongside this matter, as well as how I’m sure your great speed will be useful … All these possibilities make you a great option for a Dancer.”

He continues to stare at them. Barely sure on what to say, or even think—his friends are wonderful with his identity. His childhood friends especially, though slipped up on occasion at first, have supported him since day one. But there’s never been anything like this. Never such deep consideration, speaking to Felix through the only language he truly understands; that of combat, of his constant strive to improve as a person and with his skills.

They understand _him._ They know exactly what he needs to be comforted on this matter. No, not even comforted— _convinced_ on why this is a good path for him.

And that speaks more to him than anything. To prove his worth without using simple, baseless words. _Oh, you will still be masculine,_ or, _you shouldn’t get so worked up over gender roles anyway,_ for dysphoria has never, and will never, be so simple.

“I … thanks,” he says quietly. “That’s considerate of you. But wouldn’t I still weigh you down, if I can’t do close combat while out there?”

Byleth shakes their head. “You’re also spectacular with a Levin Sword. When—and _only_ when—you can be out there and attack from a distance, help your allies, you can join us again. And if you _are_ fighting from a distance, you will be able to do so sooner.”

Felix is silent for a moment, considering all these possibilities. He has to admit that they’re right. For certain. Felix can never see bottom surgery being a priority for him—top surgery, however, is a must. And he has to admit that living through life with this weighing on his shoulders will only bring him down in a different way.

If there’s a way for him to be useful on the battlefield and still be able to have exactly what he needs, he’ll gladly take it. Even if it’s a route he would have previously never considered.

“All right, you’re twisting my arm,” he says, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “I have to admit that there’s aspects here I hadn’t considered. My skills _can_ still be useful in this class.”

“Absolutely.”

“And it was probably rather foolish of me to ever think this was about my gender,” he adds. Indeed, after Byleth being so insightful about this, more than Felix has ever been so with his hyperfocus on simply becoming fantastic with a sword, he feels rather embarrassed.

“Not at all,” they say. “I understand your emotions. If the outfit does end up causing you dysphoria, or that you _do_ receive judgement from other people that you cannot simply ignore, then you can fight in your regular attire. That would not be a problem, not at all.”

“If anyone judges me, I’ll kick their ass,” he says with a shrug. “Not my problem that they’d be so inadequate in their skills, they must insult me over something as trivial as this. Although I imagine that you would have none of this yourself, either.”

“Not for a moment,” says Byleth. Their voice and face is normal, yet something about their aura tells Felix they’re imagining punching the face of anyone who would ever dare to insult him. They rise to their feet, holding a hand out to Felix. “Come on, then. We should get back to this if we want that victory for the Blue Lions.”

Felix nods, his competitiveness returning. He accepts their help getting to his feet. “I am sorry again, by the way, over that comment I made about you,” he says. “It was unthoughtful of me. You could very well have some awful dysphoria yourself, yet here I am, acting as though you could never understand it.”

“I do, but that is the thing; we have our own lives, and our own identities, so your experiences are still something I could never understand personally. Not to a full degree, at least. And I understand you getting defensive.”

“Regardless, if I do it again, feel free to slap me around the head.”

Byleth _chuckles._ It’s such a rare, pleasant sound that Felix finds himself staring again. “I’ll bear that in mind,” they say.

And when they continue to smile, Felix does so as well. It’s as genuine as the warmth and appreciation in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Tomorrow won't have a fic unless I think of a last minute drabble idea, however it does have art (as well as me posting a painting later today)--feel free to follow me @nikobynight on Twitter to see my art as well!


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